


All Those Things That Would Be Better Unsaid

by pinkwithoutplot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Kinks, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwithoutplot/pseuds/pinkwithoutplot
Summary: Dean's going to beat the buzz-kill out of Sam...but Sam is going to enjoy it a little too much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just some dirty talking, angsty fun inspired by the bar scene from Bloodlust. There may be misuse of belts...

 

Summary: Dean's going to beat the buzz-kill out of Sam...but Sam is going to enjoy it a little too much.  
Categories: Sam/Dean > Season Two Characters:  None  
Fun Genres:  None  
Genres:  Angst, First Time, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort, PWP, Romance  
Warnings:  BDSM, Kinks, Violence  
Challenges: None  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes  
Word count: 3491 Read: 1497  
Published: 12/04/2010 Updated: 12/04/2010

 

Story Notes:

This is just some dirty talking, angsty fun inspired by the bar scene from Bloodlust. There may be misuse of belts...

 

  
_“I want your rough house, baby,_  
I want this right in your ear.  
You let me feel your danger,  
I let you make this feeling clear.”

Sam takes a long pull on his beer as he watches his brother slug another shot. Dean slams his glass on the table and he and Gordon are laughing, clapping each other on the shoulder like old friends. But they're not old friends. They barely know each other. And Gordon's an unhinged, vengeance-bent hot-head which is why they'd had to save his ass back the vamp nest. But now Dean's acting like he owes this guy something instead of the other way around, and Sam doesn't like it one bit.

“Lighten up, Sammy,” Dean goads, kicking his foot lightly under the sticky table. Sam fixes him with a stare that says 'leave it alone'.

“Yeah! Lighten up, _Sammy!_ ” Gordon echoes, and Sam has to practically sit on his hands to stop from taking a swing at the jackass.

He feels the tight press of his lips, his knuckles whiting as he clenches his fists at his sides. His voice is low and hostile when it comes.

“ _He's_ the only one that gets to call me that.” He indicates Dean with a small jerk of his head, eyes steely. He knows how it sounds before it's even out of his mouth. Needy. Irrational. Possessive. But it's true. He didn't realise how true until now. He chances a look at Dean and sees something scud across his face, but it's gone before he can place it.

He makes his excuses and stands to leave. He feels volatile – like a sprung trap – and he's not sure what his triggers are tonight. Seems like the slightest thing will set him off so he figures the safest course of action is to remove himself entirely. He's behind Dean's chair when his brother calls him back.

“Sam!”

Sam stops and turns, sees Dean lazily spinning the keys to their room around his index finger. He's louche, infuriating, but Sam wishes with all his heart he'd stand up and follow him.

“Remind me to beat that buzz-kill out of you later, alright?”

Their eyes lock, and something shifts then. Sam feels like there's not enough air suddenly. Instead the space between them crackles and pulses with a strange energy. When he reaches out to snatch the keys from his brother, his hand is trembling, as if anticipating a shock.

It's late when Dean returns and he's drunk. Sam can smell the heady mix of whiskey, beer and smoke from the bar, and, as he approaches, the leather and gun oil tinged scent of his brother. Sam's sitting on the bed, laptop open. He's been reading without taking anything in for the last hour, but he deliberately keeps his eyes down as Dean stalks closer, shrugging off his jacket.

“So you gonna tell me what that was all about?”

Sam carries on scanning the screen and shrugs his broad shoulders. He flinches when Dean's hand shoots out and slams the laptop shut.

“Sam! Look at me, Goddammit.”

Sam glances up at his brother's liquid green eyes. They are drink-hazy and there is latent anger simmering there.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Dean.”  
  
Sam knows his petulance will further inflame his brother, but he's startled to find that's kind of what he wants. Something is coming to a head. It's like he's spoiling for a fight, only that's not what he's after. Not quite.

“Bullshit! All that crap back at the bar. ' _Only he gets to call me that'_? Don't you think that sounded a little strange, Sam? Hmm? What the hell must Gordon think-”

“I don't give a crap what Gordon thinks, Dean. The guy's an asshole!”

“Based on what, Sam?”

“I spoke to Ellen-”

“We barely know Ellen!”

“I trust her, Dean. Dad trusted her. That's good enough for me.”

“Oh! And since when were you Dad's good little solider, huh, Sammy? You spent most of your life trying to rile the guy. When you weren't running away from us that is.”

“That's not fair, Dean.”

“Not much in life is, Sam.”

Dean steps back and slumps down on his own single bed, dropping his head into his hands and massaging his temples. Sam swings his legs off the bed and swivels to sit facing his brother. He takes a deep breath. Stands.  
  
“Look, Dean. I know what this is about.”

Dean looks up and quirks a sceptical eyebrow.

“Oh really? Care to share with the class?”

His voice drips with sarcasm.

“You miss Dad.”

Dean snorts and shakes his head incredulously but Sam persists.

“You make out like you're handling this, but you're not. This Gordon thing – I get it. I do. Dad's gone, Dean. He's dead and he left a hole and it hurts so bad you can't take it. But you can't just fill that hole up with whoever you want to. It's an insult to his memory.”

Dean's on his feet then, and the next thing Sam knows, he sprawled back on his own bed, Dean's knuckles having met his jaw hard enough to make his vision blur.  
  
“Don't try to tell me how I'm feeling, Sam!” Dean shouts. “You weren't there. It was just me and Dad for four years while you were gone, college boy, and I know you'll be outta here the second we find that yellow-eyed sonofabitch, so don't you dare tell me how I feel and don't try to tell me who I can and can't keep company with!”

Sam struggles to his feet and runs his tongue around his teeth, checking for loosening. Pieces are slotting into place. Dean's scared. Terrified of being alone. Afraid Sam will leave him. And it suddenly occurs to him: He doesn't want to go back to school. He doesn't know what he wants anymore, but he knows what he doesn't want. What he couldn't bear: Being separated from his brother ever again.

“OK, Dean. OK. If it makes you feel better. Hit me. Take another shot. C'mon.”

Dean looks up at him and Sam's stomach rolls when he sees unshed tears glittering there. But something dangerous and dark is unfurling inside him and he keeps on anyway.

“What's the matter, Dean? That all you got? Thought you were itching to work me over? Well go ahead. I won't fight back. I want you to.”

Dean is looking at him intently now, a question in his eyes. And there's something underneath, something new trying to surface.

The atmosphere in the room assumes a viscous quality again, and Sam swears he can smell ozone, feel electricity palpable and throbbing between them. He's not sure what makes him pull his shirt off over his head, but it feels very much like this thing is derailing. He barely recognises his own voice.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there for you all that time, but I'm back now. I'm here. And I get it now, Dean - I deserve a whuppin' for what I put you through. So let's go. What're you waiting for?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

The tension in the room ratchets up over the next few heartbeats of silence.

Then Dean's eyes slip down to his brother's torso and his tongue snakes out to moisten his suddenly dry lips and they are both lost.  
  
“Do it, Dean,” Sam says quietly. “Hurt me like I hurt you. I won't fight it.”

Sam isn't even sure what he means and he can't for the life of him work out why he's getting hard in his jeans. It may be something to do with the look of confusion on his brother's face, and the way it's warring with his heavy lidded gaze and his full, parted lips. He's never allowed himself to think of his big brother as beautiful before, but he is. God knows he is. It may be the way Dean's deft hands are slipping the buckle on his own belt and pulling the length of worn leather out of the loops at his waist.

It may be part of the reason he stayed away so long.

Sam's eyes fall shut and he tries to regulate his breathing. His jaw feels hot and the skin too tight in the spot where the punch landed, and it throbs in time with his heart. And with his rapidly filling cock. His blood is rushing in his ears. He tries to think back to the bar. Could anyone have slipped something in his drink? No. No, he saw the bottle opened and he'd clutched it the whole time after it was handed to him. This is all him.

“Bathroom,” Dean says, his voice raw.

Sam's pulse picks up as he walks obediently into the squalid shower room and flicks on the light. The grimy pale blue tiles are flooded with harsh fluorescence. Dean is suddenly close behind him – so close that Sam can feel hot breath on the soft hairs of his nape – and one warm hand lands on his shoulder and steers him toward the shower.

Sam halts when his bare toes nudge the shower tray, his insides crawling with anticipation, and Dean slings his belt over the hoop from which the mouldy plastic curtain hangs.

“This what you want, Sammy?” Dean rasps as he grabs at Sam's arms and hauls them up one at a time, looping the warm leather around his hands and tying it off. “Want me to punish you for leaving? Think that'll ease your conscience?”

“I...” Sam's words snag in his parched throat.

What does he want? What the fuck are they doing here?

In the beginning, he thought they'd spar a little. Blow off some steam. It was the best way he could think of to get Dean to be open with him, admit he wasn't dealing with Dad's death and clear the air between them without having to talk, without him clamming up. Dean has always been more comfortable using physicality. Actions. Sex. Violence. These things are Dean's language. But they're playing a risky game. Sam's trying his damnedest to deny it in his own mind, but this has stopped being about getting Dean to open up – if it ever was. It skittered off into murky territory somewhere back in the bar when Sam saw Dean getting pally with a stranger and felt the cold, sickening rush of 'mine'.

This isn't about sibling rivalry, or grief or retribution. This is about Sam and Dean. Their need for each other. To own and be owned. Control and surrender. Pleasure and pain. Their insatiable hunger to be each other's everything.

“Do it,” Sam whispers, and feels Dean's arms enclose him from behind. Dean fumbles his buckle open and Sam holds his breath as his brother whips his belt out from around his waist and winds it around his hand.

He hears the rush of leather through air and the crack of it on the flesh of his back before he feels the searing sting. He moans, bites down hard on his lip as his now rock-hard dick strains at his fly.

“This what you want, Sammy?” Dean's voice wavers as his arm comes down again and his little brother's groan sends a shiver of perverse pleasure through him.

“Yeah!” Sam bites out. “Harder, Dean.”

“That's it, Sammy. Say my name.”

“Dean!”

“This what you needed?”

“Yeah, God Dean. Yeah.”

Sam balls his fists in the restraints and arches into the bruising, white hot pain as Dean lashes him over and over.

When he finally stops, Sam's breath is coming in laboured gulps and there is precome soaking a dark patch on his jeans.

“Sammy,” Dean says in a cracked voice, and his fingers come up to trace the livid welts on his brother's sculpted back. There is dark red starting to well in some of them and Dean rests his cheek against the fevered skin. Sam feels wetness. He's not sure if it's blood or his brother's tears.

“What are we doing, Sam?” Dean's breathless with exertion and arousal, though he's loath to admit that last fact.

“Dean,” Sam sobs. He feels the warm, slick touch of his brother's tongue tracing one of the burning wounds, then cool breath following as he blows on the wet trail. “Not going anywhere, Dean,” he whimpers. “Never again. You don't need anyone else – just me. Yours. I'll be anything you want me to be.”

“Christ, Sammy,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “This is beyond messed up.”

“Love you, Dean,” Sam breathes, wet lashes sweeping his cheek. “Want you. Just you.”

Dean shudders as he drops the belt and brings his hands up to slide over the moulded contours of his brother's stomach. Sam moans, and the frayed thread of Dean's resolve snaps. He spins Sam around to face him, the new position yanking his wrists and aching shoulders, and drops to his knees. His eyes go wide when he sees the mess Sam has made of his jeans, and his own swollen dick twitches.

Dean lays his cheek against his brother's taut, jumpy belly for a second and inhales the scent of his skin. He can smell soap and clean sweat and come. He tentatively mouths his way over Sam's abs and feels the groan this elicits vibrate through his trunk. He puts his tongue out and tastes the salty sweet skin, then fucks it in and out of Sam's navel until he's begging, his hips hunching involuntarily like a dog's.

“Please, Dean. Please. I'll do anything.”

Dean's cock is pulsing wildly and for a second he thinks he's going to come in his underwear. The thrill of breaking down his brother like this - beautiful, strong, smart Sammy – making him plead and cry and knowing he's the only one with the power to put him back together, to give him peace: It's like nothing he ever imagined. He wonders vaguely how long this twisted desire has been eating away at him, and how he's never realised it until now.

His fingers shake as they open Sam's fly and bring his hot, tacky length out into the air. Sam's huge, and painfully hard. The engorged head is slick and Dean licks at the web of clear fluid strung between it and the fabric of his brother's boxers before pushing them all the way down.

Sam steps out of one leg, giving himself more freedom. He throws his head back and bellows his relief as Dean sinks those plush lips down over his shaft.

Dean's never done this before. He's touched other guys. Desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures, and in the scheme of things, Dean figures a hand job for cash in his pocket is sometimes less risky and no more contemptible than credit card fraud. But he's never done this. He thought he'd freak out, but the smell, the taste of Sam is intoxicating. He sucks and licks greedily, moaning encouragement around Sam's throbbing dick. He works away until he can fit nearly all of his brother's impressive cock inside himself, gagging slightly when the head nudges the back of his throat but carrying on regardless.

Sam's eyes are rolled back in his skull. The skin of his back is tingling and the hot blood thrumming just below the surface. The pain in his tethered hands is intensifying, but somehow it only serves to heighten his pleasure. Dean's gorgeous mouth is suckling him and he feels like his spine is liquifying and dribbling out through his slit.

“Oh, fuck yeah, Dean! Suck me. You were made for this. God, your mouth.”

“ _Your_ mouth!” Dean counters, pulling off and looking up at his not so little brother with a smirk.

He stands and rests his hands on Sam's hips. His skin is dewy and slick with sweat now. They look into each other's eyes for the longest time, just trying to fathom how the hell they ended up here. Then Dean leans in and presses his flushed lips to Sam's.

Their kiss is soft as first, almost hesitant, but then Sam parts his lips and licks at Dean's mouth, demanding entry. Dean moans and lets him in, their tongues slipping wetly together, teasing, tasting. Sam licks the heat of whiskey from his brother's mouth and tests the sharpness of his teeth. Dean let's himself be violated, Sam's strong tongue stroking him into a frenzy. Although they know it's wrong, they've never been more right together. Like everything they've done up until this point was preparation for this moment. Training, hunting, loving, loss.

Sam pulls away, their mouths separating with a moist sound that fuels the fire in both of them, and says,

“You have no idea the things I'd do for you Dean. How far I'd go. It scares me.”

Dean lets his eyelids flutter shuts and drops his forehead to rest on his brother's.

“I know, Sammy,” he whispers. “I know.”

And he does, he really does.

“Turn around.”

Dean's voice is loaded with helpless wanting and Sam twists back, giving his wrists a little respite. His fingers are pins and needles, but it's nothing compared to the crazy-making ache in his dick. He hears Dean's zipper, the soft crumple of denim hitting the cold floor. Dean kicks his legs apart, and then he's on Sam's back, sending shock waves through the raw skin there, urgently hard against the juncture of his ass and his thigh.

“You gonna fuck me, Dean? Make me yours?”

“You've always been mine,” Dean murmurs in to his sweat soaked hair. “Soon. No rush. Gonna fuck you so many ways. Never gonna stop fucking you.”

Dean's hand runs up his right leg and traces patterns through the wiry thatch of hair at the top.

“Please Dean. I can't take any more. Just fuckin' touch me.”

Sam nearly weeps as Dean's calloused hand closes around his leaking dick and starts to jack him slowly. At the same time, his big brother starts to hump against him, rubbing his thick, heavy cock along the cleft of Sam's ass. The way is slicked with sweat and precome, and Dean starts to gasp and moan in earnest as he finds a rhythm.  
  
“Oh, Sammy. Not gonna last. Wanna fill you up so bad, but we need to take it slow.”

Sam writhes and presses back, so that the blunt head of his brother's cock grazes the sensitive skin around his hole.

“Sammy, don't! I'm warning you.” Dean's voice is gruff. “Do not tease me, man. I'm barely holding it together here...”

Sam whines and grinds against Dean, fucking his brother's fist and feeling the beginnings of his climax pool in his belly.

“That's it Dean,” he pants. “Ride my ass. You gonna bring yourself off like this, huh? Shoot a nice big load all over my hole?”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy. You always talk like this when you're about to lose it?”

“Guess you'll find out.”

“We'll see how mouthy you are with my cock down your throat.”

And Sam's done, bucking forward with a shout and pumping warm come into Dean's slick fist. It splatters the shower curtain and the floor. Dean grabs a hold of Sam's hipbones and thrusts against him hard once, twice, three times and he's coming too, sticky heat welling in the crack of Sam's ass and running down between his thighs. Sam hisses as Dean's sweat soaked brow rests against his back, the saltiness piquing the broken skin.

After what could be a minute or could be five, Dean reaches up and slips Sam's hands out of the belt. Sam rolls his shoulders and winces as the blood rushes back to his hands. He feels weak suddenly, and sits down on the toilet, his head falling forward, hair curtaining his face.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean says. “What the hell just happened?”

“Well, I guess you beat the buzz-kill right outta me,” Sam says, huffing out a weird almost laugh.

Dean takes a deep breath, holds it and blows it out. His head is swimming. There's a cold, hard ball of something which might be shame lying heavy in his gut, but at the same time he knows he wanted that. Wants it again. He swallows thickly.

“I'll get the medi-kit,” he mumbles. “I made a mess of your back.”

Sam looks up at his brother and nods. There is a slight smile playing on his lips and his eyes are bright and glassy. Dean turns to leave but Sam's voice pulls him sharp.

“Dean!”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“I think I'm gonna be sleeping on my front for a while.”

Dean licks his lips and his pupils spread a fraction at the thought of his little brother naked and spread for him, cries muffled by the pillow he has his face buried in as Dean drives it home over and over.

“Thing is, Sammy,” he says with a wink, “I ain't tired just yet.”

 

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.sinful-desire.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=3833>


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